


Where Do We Start

by 6mgs7



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 6MGS7, Bipolar Disorder, Cats, Endgame Gallavich, Heavy Angst, Here kitty kitty, M/M, Starts with a break up, alternative universe, just trust me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 16:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/6mgs7
Summary: This story was inspired by the song "Where Do You Start" and begins at the end of Ian and Mickey's relationship.  I know the tags are scary, but just have a little faith in love, and read it ❤️





	Where Do We Start

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this as part of the Here Kitty Kitty Challenge, but would like to gift this to FckYeahGallavich as well. We all deserve a gift, so here's yours. I hope it's the second one you get this year.
> 
> All errors are my own... and I'm sure there are plenty!

THE END

Skinny jeans to the right. Gray hoodie… he pressed the worn fabric to his nose, taking in the unmistakable scent of Ian’s aftershave. It was Mickey’s favorite hoodie, which was why Ian wore it all the time. Mickey crumbled it into a ball and tossed it in the black garbage bag on the left. He grabbed a pair of jeans, holding them against his waist to check the length of the legs… he tossed them to the pile on the right. 

The music from the living room grew louder. Ian and Mandy were laughing, and knowing them, they were probably dancing around on the couch cushions as well. Assholes.

“Turn that shit down!” The giggling stopped and someone turned the music off. “Mandy! Get your ass in here.”

She came into the bedroom with that infamous Milkovich scowl on her face and fell onto the bare mattress, “Christ, Mickey. What the fuck? We were just having a little fun.” 

“You didn’t come over here to have fun. You came to fucking help me pack.” He tossed a black garbage bag at her and pointed to the closet.

“I’d be happy to, but I have no idea what belongs to you or to him.” She opened the closet and began pulling hangers out, “For instance, this shirt. You wore it last week, but he wore it for New Years. So… which fucking bag should I put it in?”

“To the right.” He answered, pointing at Ian's pile without looking up at the shirt she was holding. Whatever it was, he didn't want to think of Ian on New Year's every time he saw the shirt.

The pile on the right was at least four times bigger than the one on the left. “Are those yours or his?” He didn’t answer.

“Mickey. Mick. Look at me.” He stopped moving but didn’t look up at her. He bit his bottom lip, holding it in his mouth, feeling it tremble. He couldn’t look at her. “Mickey, you have to at least keep some clothes for yourself, you know. You can’t just fucking get rid of everything that reminds you of him, or you’re gonna be walking around naked for the world to see.” She tried to sound lighthearted, hoping for a chuckle from him.

They both heard the front door close. That was it. Ian was gone. No goodbye. No Fuck You. Just gone. He had spent most of the morning packing the back of Kevin’s truck to the brim before Mandy had arrived, and told her that he and Lip would be back for the rest of the furniture and his clothes later, after Mickey had left. It would be easier for everyone that way.

“I’m already walking around fucking naked for the world to see, Mandy. So what difference do a few shirts make?” Mickey's voice cracked. He cleared his throat and pinched at his eyes before tossing the blue plaid shirt into the pile on the left. _There. I kept a fucking shirt. You happy now?_

“ _Meeooow_ ”

“Are you taking Mumbles?” Mandy asked. “I mean, I don’t care if he comes, but we might have to ask Greg first if you bring him, because…”

“No, I’m not keeping the fucking cat. I'm sure he’s probably just planning on picking him up with the rest of this shit when he comes back later.” Mickey couldn’t even bring himself to say Ian’s name anymore. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had said it. There had been so much silence between them in the past month after Ian decided this was the best thing for both of them, with hardly a reason left for Mickey to say his name out loud.

Mickey picked Mumbles up, kissing the top of his head and scratching between his ears. The cat cuddled into him, pressing himself to Mickey’s chin and wrapping a paw around his neck lovingly. He’d always been more Mickey’s cat than Ian’s… but he wasn’t Mickey’s cat, was he? Mickey had brought Mumbles home several years ago, after Ian’s doctor suggested they get a cat to help with his depression. Mumbles had definitely helped. 

They both loved their cat, more than they had expected to. Ian took so many damn pictures of the cat, Mickey, and their son Yevgeny cuddling together that he eventually started an Instagram account called SSThugsNMumbles. Mickey didn't even put up a fight about all the pictures Ian took, because he secretly loved the way Ian talked about his favorite three boys in each post. They were always tagged the same: #MySSThug, #MiniSSThug, and #MumblesTheThug. Mickey set the cat back down, and reluctantly returned to packing up the bedroom.

The sun was long gone by the time the drawers and closet were empty. He wasn't taking any furniture with him - only his clothes and personal belongings - Mickey just wanted a clean break. Ian was keeping the rest. Now that the time had come, Mickey knew it was taking longer than necessary to get his few bags packed into his and Mandy’s cars. He’d never admit it was because he was hoping Ian would return before they drove away. He hadn't noticed Ian circling the street twice, waiting for their cars to be gone. Now that the last garbage bag was stuffed into the front seat, he was out of excuses for sticking around. Mandy left first, leaving Mickey to lock up the apartment one last time. He stood in the empty living room, except for the two worn couches, a coffee table, and Mumble’s litter box. Mumbles was circling his ankles meowing, purring, begging Mickey to stay.

“C’mere.” He cuddled his furry baby one last time. “I love you, little man. You take care of him, ok.” This time Mickey didn’t hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall all day. He squeezed his cat tight, pressing his lips to his furry head, and let out soft sobs as the tears flowed now. “How the fuck did we get here, huh?”

“ _Meow_.”

He set Mumbles down, and pressed his palms against his eyes, wiping away the tears. “Don’t worry. I’m just gonna be at Aunt Mandy’s, ok? You can come visit me anytime.” He set his key on the table, then pushed Mumbles gently away from the door with his foot, flipping off the light switch one last time before pulling the door shut.

***

THE MIDDLE

Ian fell onto his bed, still fully dressed in his uniform and work boots, his mind as exhausted as his body. Mumbles crawled onto his chest and pressed into his neck, purring loudly.

“Hi baby.” He gave Mumbles a few scratches on the head, but that was all the energy he had. His arm fell heavy onto the bed beside him as he began to drift off to sleep. The alarm on his phone began to ring, startling him awake and growing louder with every second he ignored it. “God, ok, ok. I hear you.” He swiped the alarm off and let out a heavy sigh, forcing himself to wake up again.

He moved Mumbles gently from his chest and made his way to the bathroom to take his evening dose of meds. There was a calendar hanging on the wall next to the sink, and a red marker hanging from a string. Ian marked today’s date off with three slashes, signifying the three doses of meds he’d taken for the day. It was a visual reminder to himself to ensure he stayed on schedule. 

There were times, just a few months earlier, when he hadn’t been taking them. He had made that decision consciously and on his own, without telling Mickey. And when he began to spiral out of control, he chose to lie not only to himself, but also to Mickey about his pills. Not anymore. The calendar was marked three times each day, to keep track of those things.

He slipped out his uniform, tossing it into a growing pile in the corner of the room where all of his clothes seemed to be gathering, both dirty and clean. He didn’t care. The only thing he’d unpacked since moving a few days ago was Mumbles' toys, a few kitchen items, and the contents of his bathroom cabinet. Everything else, except the growing pile of laundry, was still in boxes. 

He crawled back in bed wearing nothing but his boxers and pulled the covers up over his head. He tried to ignore what he knew his therapist would say if she knew he was still living out of boxes. The thought was fleeting as his mind drifted away, seconds from sleep, when his phone buzzed on the table beside him. He pulled the pillow over his head. Less than a minute later, it buzzed again. He reached for his phone and brought it under the pillow to read the texts.

_Mandy: Hey shithead, I still want you to come over this weekend._

_Mandy: It doesn’t have to be weird. Just because you two broke up doesn’t mean me and you broke up. Please. You don’t have to stay long. He probably won’t even be here, he hates Greg’s friends… and football._

_Ian: Just off an 18hr shift. I’ll try._

_Mandy: K . Love you_

He grabbed Mumbles and curled into a ball, hoping to finally get some sleep. It was important for him to sleep. He’d been monitoring his sleep schedule just as closely as his pill schedule, for more than a month. There was no one else to watch these things for him anymore, and he needed to learn to manage it on his own. A month before he had moved out of their apartment, Mickey had set this system up for him to make sure he would be able to do it once he was on his own. As much as Ian hated Mickey for doing that, he knew it was necessary, and so he kept to it as much as he could, even with the crazy hours his still job required.

Somehow Ian managed to get 6 hours of dreamless sleep, before waking up to Mumbles' claws kneading at his chest. 

“Ouch, fuck, Mums!” 

Mumbles used to sleep with Mickey. He used to wake Mickey up at the crack of dawn with his kneading and meowing, begging for breakfast, but now the only person he had was Ian. Ian removed his claws from his chest, and moved him gently onto the bed, watching as Mumbles resorted to his only other option for comfort – Mickey’s pillow. He tucked his furry head into the pillow and sniffed in Mickey’s scent as he continued to knead and purr. Ian rolled his head onto Mickey’s pillow, burying his nose to take in that familiar smell he was used to waking up to each morning.

Mumbles watched Ian closely, both of them content and lost in the smell of their missing thug. Ian finally forced himself to sit up, pushing every single thought of Mickey out of his head. He couldn’t do this. Letting go and moving on had been his idea, after all, not Mickey’s. Ian had to make it work, and that meant not getting lost in missing Mickey every time that Mumbles did. He reached for his phone to take a picture of the cat cuddling into the pillow. 

_IG Post: Mumbles misses his thug_ … Ian deleted the text and settled for tagging it simply _#MumblestheThug #Morningcuddles #SSCat_

Time to move. He got dressed in sweats and a t-shirt and started the day with a two mile run. When he got back home, it was a quick shower, his morning pills, then toast and eggs. Ian searched the pile of clothes for something clean to wear to Mandy’s house, settling on a pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt. He made a mental note of all his dirty uniforms, knowing he will need to do laundry before going back to work. Before leaving the house, he kissed Mumbles and promised to say hello to his favorite thug for him. 

This is healthy. This is taking care of himself. This is what moving on looks like, he tells himself. Seeing Mickey now and again is something he won’t be able to avoid – at least not as long as him and Mandy remain friends, and Ian knows he will always be her friend. So, like it or not, this part is necessary. Seeing Mickey will get easier with time. 

Mandy lives part time in a 2000 square foot two-bedroom apartment near the water. It’s in a fancy building, with a doorman and a mortgage that costs more than Ian makes in a month. It belongs to her boyfriend, Greg, but they spend most of their time in New York, at his brownstone. This week they are both in Chicago, hosting a Super Bowl party for his friends from his childhood. Both Ian and Mickey were invited weeks earlier - that was long before Mickey had decided to move into Mandy’s extra bedroom. 

Ian walked the few blocks from the train to her apartment, telling himself _it will get easier with time._

The apartment was already packed by the time Ian arrived. The 60” TV in the living room was tuned into the pre-game, with more than a dozen men dressed in football jerseys, drinking beer and just hanging around. Ian didn’t recognize any of them, and had no interest in sitting around with them as they spewed their unimpressive sports trivia and stats saturated in a heavy dose of testosterone. Ian hated sports parties, which he would readily argue had nothing at all to do with him being gay. He just fucking hated football, almost as much as Mickey did. 

He walked through the crowd looking for Mandy – if he was being honest with himself, he would admit he was hoping to catch sight of Mickey, but that was still a bit of truth he wasn't ready to admit yet. He found Mandy at last in the den with a few of her friends talking about some Broadway show she and Greg had recently seen in New York. He listened to her talk and laugh with her friends. He smiled contently, knowing she was happy, and knowing she had finally escaped the cruel, abusive past she had grown up with in the South Side. 

“Ian, you came!” She ran to him, like she always did, jumping into his arms for a hug the way she had been doing since they were just 15 years old.

“Of course I came. I told you I would try. How are things?”

“You mean since the last time I saw you, a week ago? Or do you mean _things_ like my new roommate?”

He smiled and bit at his lip nervously, a habit he had picked up from Mickey over all the years they had been together. He shrugged his shoulders and averted his eyes out the window, “I guess with your new roommate.”

“Mmhmm. That's what I thought. He’s good. I asked him to run to the store for me real quick – apparently Greg invited half his old law firm, so we were running out of shit to munch on. He should be back pretty soon though. Come on, let’s get something to drink.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be right there… I gotta use the bathroom real quick.”

“Ok – why don’t you use the one in my room – god knows what condition the other one is in right now.

Ian made his way down the dark hallway, passing the guest bath, then turned the corner toward the two bedrooms. Mickey’s bedroom was the first, on the left. Ian stopped in front of the closed door for a minute, taking a step closer. He rested a hand on the wood of the door and closed his eyes, as if it were enough to feel Mickey once more. _It gets easier…_

“You lost, Firecrotch?” 

Ian pulled his hand quickly from the door and stuffed it into his front pocket before spinning to face the familiar voice.

“uh… No. I was just… uhm… I was… hi, Mick.” Mickey took him in. The anger was still clear in his eyes, as well as caution, telling Ian that Mickey was assessing his sanity more than anything. “I was just on my way to Mandy’s bathroom. Sorry.”

“S’aight. Just didn’t expect to see you here, that’s all.” Mickey pushed past Ian, opening the door to his room. The room was already furnished when he moved in, but Ian noticed Mickey’s personal belongings were no longer in boxes like his own. The dresser tops now had all the familiar items Ian has grown used to – colognes, work gloves, an old cigar box filled with concert and event tickets that Mickey’s been collecting for years, drawings Svetlana has mailed him from Yevgeny ever since he was a just a toddler, a framed black and white photo Ian had given him for his birthday three years ago of Mickey’s mother. Ian had found it stuffed under a bed in the old Milkovich house after Terry had died. Even the walls of his bedroom were now decorated with the familiar posters and paraphernalia that had once covered their own bedroom for years.

“Hey, listen – Come in for a sec. I got something for you.” Mickey said just as Ian was about to walk away. “It’s nothing much, but…” 

Mickey opened his closet. Ian noticed the clothes hanging there are new, many with tags still on them. Mickey pulled out a plastic storage bin from the back of the closet. He opened it up, taking out several handguns before revealing a red gift bag with hearts on it. Ian recognized it as the bag he had given Mickey years ago for Valentine’s Day – it was a little worn, but still looked as though Mickey had taken great care with it all these years. “Sorry for the bag, man… It was all I had to put this in, you know?” 

Ian looked inside. There were a few bags of kitty treats, a bag of catnip, and several furry mice with jingle bells inside of them. They were all of Mumbles' favorite things. Things Mickey had always kept stocked in the house, which Ian hadn’t given any thought to since they moved. Tears prick at Ian’s eyes as he realized the gift was for the cat – the cat that belonged more to Mickey than it did to him.

He cleared his throat and swallowed hard before trying to speak. “Thanks.” He said quietly. “Mumbles says hi, by the way.” 

Ian’s eyes flash up at Mickey quickly, but seeing him standing there with his arms crossed and his face still filled with anger was more than he could handle. Ian took the bag and left the room quickly without another word, heading for the front door. He was wrong to come here today. It was too soon. This might all get easier some day, but today was not that day.

Ian practically jogged the entire way back to the train, wiping the tears from his eyes as he went. By the time he reached his tiny apartment back on the South Side, he had a half dozen unread texts from Mandy. He held the button to delete the entire thread without reading them. Months of texts and photos were gone in seconds, and his heart broke again knowing that in order to let go of Mickey, he was going to have to come to terms with letting go of Mandy as well. 

He put the red bag on the kitchen counter as his phone alarm rang again. He pulled a dose of meds from a small pill box in his front pocket and downed them with a glass of water, then went to the bathroom to mark the calendar. He kicked his shoes off onto the pile of laundry, and went to lie down on his bed. He just needed a few minutes, maybe a twenty minute cat nap to turn his mind off, but all he can think about is Mickey's room, and how everything was already unpacked. Mickey was moving on. His next thought went to all the boxes that were lining the walls in every corner of his own apartment. Ian knew all of this would only get easier if he started taking the steps forward like Mickey was doing. 

He got up and went to the kitchen, grabbing the red bag from the counter.

“Here kitty kitty…” Mumbles came running to him. “Daddy sent you some treats, little man.” He tossed the mice around the room and opened one of the bags of treats, sprinkling a few on the floor. Then he reached into the kitchen drawer for a knife, running his finger along the blade to test the sharpness. It was time to unpack and move on, he told himself. He began cutting the packing tape from all the boxes, determined to get “moved in” and do his laundry before he headed back to work in two days.

***

March Madness found Mandy’s guy in Vegas for the basketball tournaments. How Mandy managed to land herself a law abiding boyfriend who loved sports was beyond Mickey – those were two things she hated more than anything growing up. She had come to terms with Greg being a big shot lawyer, but she insisted the line be drawn at sharing his love for all things sports, so instead of Vegas, she has opted to come home to Chicago for a few weeks.

A cold front had moved into the city, threatening blizzard like conditions for the next two days, so she and Mickey stocked up on junk food and cheesy chick flicks to hole down for a few days. With the storm moving in, the construction site he worked at was closed for several days, so he was looking forward to a mini vacation with his sister. He let her choose the movies, only because he was just so happy to have company around again. The apartment was too big and too quiet without Mandy's or Ian's constant talking to drive him crazy each day. 

They were half a bottle of Jack down and already on their third movie of the night when Mandy finally broke down and asked the forbidden question.

“So. What happened? With you and Ian?”

Mickey barely darted his eyes in her direction before biting at his lip, a sure sign that he was going to try to avoid the subject.

“Listen, asshole. He’s been my best friend since we were just kids, and I’ve been damn good about trying to stay out of this to let you two figure it out, but now it’s just bullshit, ok? He won’t return my calls or texts. I went by his house the other day and he wouldn’t answer the door, even though I fucking saw him looking at me through the peep hole. So, if I have to lose my best friend because of your ass, you’d better at least tell me why?” 

Mickey grabbed the bottle of Jack, not bothering with a shot glass this time, and took a long drink before he spoke.

“He slept with someone.” Mickey said at last. He saw Mandy’s eyes grow wide and her mouth fall open a bit, but he knew it wasn't enough. Ian was sick, and they both knew that. Ian had slept with other men before when he was manic, and while Mickey hated knowing that hyper sexuality was all part of his disease, he had also come to terms with understanding that it was never Ian’s intention to hurt him. Ever. The last time it happened had been more than five years ago. 

“And…” She waited as he drank some more.

“Last year we were supposed to meet up at the Alibi for Kev’s stupid Halloween party. I was there, dressed like some fucking firefighting asshole, sitting at the bar waiting for him all night. When he didn’t show up after a few hours, I went home and found him passed out on the bed. He had his fucking pants pulled down around his ankles and a used condom next to him on the bed. On our fucking bed.”

Mandy looked away, ashamed for her friend, sad for her brother. He took another drink.

“That wasn’t it though. I mean, I get it. I don’t fucking like it, but I get it. I woke him up and I knew he was manic. I fucking beat myself up inside, because we had been happy, you know? Things had been fucking great for so long, and I completely missed it. It snuck in on us and somehow I missed that he was getting manic.” His voice cracked and he lowered his head. 

In the glow of the TV she saw his lips trembling as he took a slow deep breath in, and she regretted pushing him for an answer.

“I took him to the hospital the next day and they admitted him for two weeks…”

“TWO WEEKS?! How the fuck didn’t I know about that?” She asked.

“You’ve been busy.” He said quietly, and swallowed down hard. Mandy realized how alone Mickey must have felt. Ian and Mandy were his people, and both of them had been gone when he had needed them the most.

“I’m sorry, Mickey.”

“’S not your fault. He was my responsibility, not yours.” He pinched at his eyes. “When he came home, I thought we were ok, you know. He was better. His meds got adjusted and he was back to seeing a therapist, so I just thought we’d pick up where we were before, but we couldn’t. He was… I don’t know. Pissed. At me, mostly. I mean, he was the one who fucked some stranger from the grocery store, but somehow or other, I was the fucking bad guy. And..." She heard his breath stutter as he paused, "I guess things just kind of fell apart from there.”

“That doesn’t sound like Ian at all. I mean, what the hell, Mick? Did you talk to him about it?”

“Of course I fucking talked to him! What the fuck, Mandy? You think I just let him tear us apart without fucking fighting for him? You wanna know what he said? He said he was tired of me being his fucking nurse all the time. Tired of me treating him like a patient. Well, fuck him! I was tired of being his god damned nurse, and fighting over whether or not he took his fucking pills! I just wanted him to want to be ok, you know. I fucking did everything... just so he could be ok.” 

Mickey got up from the couch, stumbling a bit as he headed for his jacket near the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” 

"Mickey! You can't fucking drive. You're drunk. Especially not in this snow!"

"Won't drive." He was gone without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Mandy sat in the dark room as the ending credits of the movie rolled across the TV screen. It was after midnight, and she knew Ian would probably be sleeping, but she took a chance and dialed his number anyway.

“Hello.”

“Hey, fucker. Jesus Christ, I was starting to think you were ignoring me, not answering any of my calls or texts. How are you?”

Ian had grabbed for his phone, half asleep, in the dark, without looking at the screen before answering. A part of him regretted answering, because he had been avoiding Mandy since he slipped out of her Super Bowl party a month ago. But another part of him ached with longing when he heard his friend’s voice come through the phone. 

“Mandy? Hey, I’m good. Sorry, been busy, you know?” His voice was groggy and sleepy. “Listen, I just worked like twenty hours straight, Mands. Is it ok if I call…”

“NO! No, Ian. It’s not ok. I’m not going to keep you long, ok? Just listen to me for a minute. I know you have to fucking figure out how to do this whole thing with you and Mickey, but… fuck, Ian. You were mine first." He can hear the sadness in her voice. "I love you. Please, don’t make me lose you too.” Ian stayed silent. She could hear Mumbles purring near the mouthpiece of his phone. “Is that Mr. Mumbles? Aaw, I miss him. Give him kisses for me.”

“Ok. Hey Mums… you hear your Aunt Mandy? She said to give you kisses – come here, baby.” Mandy can hear him giving Mumbles kisses. “Mandy, I really need to go.” Neither of them hung up. 

“Mickey went out.” Ian’s brain comes up a level of awareness at the mention of Mickey.

“What? In this storm? Wait, why are you telling me that?” 

“Yes, in this storm, Ian. He was upset. I just… Fuck, Ian, you need to fix this.” She finally said. He took a minute, wondering what was left to fix anymore. It was good Mickey was going out – he wasn’t stuck at home monitoring Ian’s sleep or meds or fears. He wasn’t asking if he’d eaten before each set of pills or checking the vitamin bottles to make sure Ian was taking them. 

“I saw him last week.” Ian admitted quietly. “He didn’t see me though. I went out with my partner after work one day and I saw him leaving a bar with some guy. A red-head.” Ian lets out a sad chuckle.

Neither of them said anything. The seconds ticked by quietly, leaving Mandy heartbroken for her friend and her brother. She wasn't sure what to say, because she knew about the red-head. Mickey had told her about him over some drunk texts, followed by a short emotional phone call at 2 in the morning. Mickey had said the red-head was a convenient fuck and nothing more. She told him it might be a good idea next time to pick someone without red hair. 

“At least he has a type, right?” Ian finally said. “I mean, part of me wanted to believe he was looking for someone who looked like me… but, then I realized, we all have a type. His is red-heads. Maybe he’ll get lucky and find one that’s not batshit crazy too.” He covered his eyes and took in a deep shuttered breath. She could hear him crying along with Mumbles' purring. “Mandy, I have to go.” His voice was hoarse and emotional, and she wanted to comfort him, but the line went dead before she could say another word.

***

June marked eight months since Ian’s hospital visit. Seven months since he told Mickey he needed to move out and on with his life, alone. Five months since they separated their CDs and movies and called it quits. It had been two weeks since Mumbles started spending every night crying in the window, earning angry yells from the neighbors to _“shut your fucking cat up!”_ Mumbles had started spraying the apartment, avoiding his litter box and leaving Ian to worry about him every time he had to leave him alone to go to work.

He wanted to call Mickey, and ask him to check on Mumbles, but that wasn’t the arrangement and Ian knew it. The arrangement was… there was no arrangement. A clean break, no ties, no check-ins, no future. Even Mandy had stopped texting as often. She only texted about once a month, which seldom went beyond the obligatory _how are you_ and _I’m fine, sorry I've been busy_ responses. Ian finally made an appointment with a veterinarian on his day off to see if there was something physically wrong with Mumbles.

“Mr. Gallagher, I’m sorry to give you this news, but…”

Ian took Mumbles home, along with a bag filled with tiny pills and some liquid medicine the vet had given him to help ease his cat's pain. He stayed home until Mumbles finally fell asleep on Mickey’s pillow, then headed out to the grocery store to pick up some chicken. Boiled chicken and rice ground up with water is the new special diet he will need to go on.

“Ian?” It was the first time Ian had heard Mickey say his name in more than half a year.

He turned and came face to face with him… and another man - with strawberry blonde hair. Ian’s eyes darted from Mickey to the unknown man, then back to Mickey, but he was at a loss for words. This day just couldn't possibly get any worse!

“Yo, Ian. You in there?” Mickey asked, waving his hand in front of his face. “You ok, man?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Who’s this?” His voice was harsh and impatient, as if he still had a right to ask who the fuck the man standing next to Mickey was. Ian noticed it's not even the same red-head he'd seen Mickey with months before, but that doesn't make it any easier.

The man smiles cordially at Ian, offering his hand to shake, “Hey! I’m Kyle. It’s nice to finally meet you – Ian right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” Mickey rolled his eyes at Kyle. Ian looked at Kyle’s hand like it was a snake ready to strike, then back at Mickey, ignoring Kyle completely.

“Yo, Kyle. Why don’t you go find the dryer sheets, man. I’ll catch up to you.” Mickey’s eyes stayed fixed on Kyle as he walked away, waiting for him to get a safe distance before turning back to Ian.

“So, is everything ok? You don’t look so good.” He noticed Ian's red rimmed eyes and the multiple packs of chicken in his basket, and couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of compulsive behavior, since there was no reasonable explanation for any single person to need that much chicken. “You wanna talk or something? I got a minute.” Mickey looked down the aisle again, making sure Kyle was long gone.

“Mumbles is…" Ian swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. He saw the way Mickey was looking at the contents of his basket and knew what he must have been thinking. “The chicken is for him. He’s dying.” His face grew red and his eyes glossy. He wiped at them before any tears could fall, and took a deep breath in to steady himself.

“The fuck? What … Are you fucking kidding me?” Tears filled Mickey’s eyes and his neck tingled with nerves that stood on edge. “Come on, man … let’s go sit down a minute.” He led Ian to the front of the store where there was a coffee shop and some tables. Ian wiped tears from his eyes as Mickey brought a chair to sit close to him, face to face. 

“Come here.” For the first time in seven months, Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian, and held him. Comforted him, like only Mickey was ever been able to do. They tucked their heads into each other. Ian’s tears turn to sobs as he grabs hold of Mickey, clinging on for dear life. For Ian, this was so much more than loosing Mumbles. Holding Mickey in his arms again reminded him of everything he had given up, and he couldn't remember why he once thought it was the right thing to do.

“It’s ok, baby. It’s ok.”

After a few minutes, Ian sat up again. Mickey’s hand was there, on his cheek, wiping the last of the tears. “What’s going on with Mumbles?” Mickey asked gently.

“He’s been sick. I took him to the vet, and they said it’s cancer.” He started crying again. “The vet wanted to put him down, but… I guess, I’m just not ready for that.”

Mickey nodded. He understood. He hadn’t seen his cat in months, but he loved him. That was his and Ian's baby, together. After Svet moved to Ohio with Yevgeny, Mumbles became their baby. Mickey wasn’t ready to let go him go yet either. “So, the chicken?”

“Special diet he can digest. I had to get a shit load of meds too. Pain killers. He has to stay on a schedule each day.” Ian let out a chuckle at the irony of how the tables had turned. Now he was the nurse, watching out for Mumbles' schedule. “I guess him and I are both on the same schedule – only I’m just crazy… and he’s dying.”

Neither of them talk. Mickey pulled out his wallet and handed Ian three twenty dollar bills. “Here. It’s all the cash I have on me right now, but I’ll drop some more by in a few days, ok?”

“You don’t… no, Mickey. I don’t want your money.”

“Good, because I’m not giving _you_ the money. I’m paying for the fucking chicken my cat needs, ok? Or the fucking meds. I know they must have cost a goddamn fortune, Ian. Take the money.” He pushed the bills into Ian’s hand. It wasn’t lost on Ian that Mickey knew how expensive meds were. There had been years of Mickey busting his ass to make sure Ian always had the meds he needed, even before they had been able to afford health insurance.

Kyle came around the corner with grocery bags.

“Oh, hey. There you are. You ready to head home?”

 _Home._ Ian heard that word and his heart tightened in his chest. Mickey gave Kyle a murderous look. “I’ll meet you the outside, just ... I need a fucking minute.”

“Yeah, sure. It was nice to meet you, Ian.” Ian didn’t acknowledge him until he was out the door.

“He seems nice.” He finally said quietly.

“Yeah. He’s actually…”

“Mick, no. Please. I don’t want to know anything about him, ok? I mean… I’m not trying to be rude or anything. It’s just, I’ve had a fucking terrible day, ok? And…" He bit at his trembling lips. “Please don’t tell me anything about him, Mickey.” He whispered at last.

Mickey nodded. Ian pushed his chair back, putting distance between them as he stood. “Thank you. For the money. I gotta go.”

***

“Ok. It should be good to go now – I can’t find anything else leaking.” Ian slid out from under the kitchen sink and sat up. Sheila slapped her hands together happily.

“Oh my goodness! You are my knight in shining armor! Thank you so much.”

He turned the faucet on, testing the hot water, then the cold. “Good as new.”

“I don’t know what I would do if it weren’t for you, Ian. Ever since Karen took off with my bank book, I’ve been scraping by to get a little cash just to pay the bills. You just saved me a bundle on a plumber.” She snuck up behind him and hugged him tight.

“Oh! Hey, hugs are nice.” 

“Come on. I made a pot roast and pie for dessert. Let me at least feed you before you go home.”

There had been a time when Ian would have made his way to the front door as quick as possible once he had helped Sheila with one of her household repairs, but that was before. Before, when Sheila was still considered the batshit crazy person of the neighborhood. Before Ian had taken on that title for himself. Before Sheila had come forward to support him and Mickey, even in their darkest hours. She had been there to help nurse Ian, sitting with him for hours through long days and nights when he was low. She had been there for his manic highs, keeping him safe and busy, cleaning their house from top to bottom or cooking every dish they could think of until 3 in the morning when he would finally fall asleep exhausted, all just so Mickey could sleep and still get to work the next day. Sheila had been Ian’s knight in shining armor for years now, so when she asked Ian to stay for dinner, it never crossed his mind to say no.

As always the pot roast was perfect, served with bite sized potato and carrots and perfectly whipped mashed potatoes. When dinner was done, she served up two slices of blueberry pie and fresh coffee. That's when the questions he’d been expecting all along began.

“So… how are things? I mean, with Mr. Mumbles gone and all. Are you doing ok? Are you keeping to your schedule and eating?”

Ian nodded. Sheila was about the only person left in his life who regularly asked him if he was keeping his pill schedule. Mickey used to ask him, until it started pissing Ian off, then Mickey only checked the bottles to count the pills. That made Ian even angrier. Somehow, Sheila asking the same questions didn’t have the same negative effect on Ian. He hadn't understood why there was a difference for a long time, but lately he was starting to get it. He wasn't holding Sheila's life hostage in her caring for him, the way he had with Mickey's life.

He gave Sheila a smile, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. The truth was, he actually was doing better these days. “I’m ok. Taking my pills. Getting plenty of sleep. Thank you for asking.”

“Have you seen Mickey lately?” She went straight for the gut. Ian forgave her for that as well, because she was the only person who had asked him about Mickey since they broke up. Ten years of his life with the same man, who loved and cared for him, and yet every damn person in his life seemed to pretend Mickey never existed.

“No. I haven’t.” That wasn't entirely true. He can tell she knew it wasn't the truth. “Ok, well, not exactly. I mean, I saw a picture of him.”

The picture had been Mickey standing with a group of men around a fire pit, beer in hand, with a big, genuine happy smile on his face. Dryer Sheet Kyle had posted the picture. He also had an arm draped around Mickey’s shoulder. Ian had stared at that picture for two days straight, obsessing over Kyle’s arm, and looking at the tag, #MySSThug. That had been how Ian found the picture. That tag was Ian’s creation years ago. He had randomly clicked on it in one of his own photos only to discover the new photo in the search results. 

For those two days, he’d hated Kyle more than he’d ever hated anyone in his life. That was HIS FUCKING THUG, Ian Fucking Gallagher's! And that tag belonged to him too, no one else! He got drunk for the first time in two years that night. He skipped his meds. He called in sick to work on the second day. He cried for almost 48 hours straight, telling himself the tears were about having to put Mumbles down the week before and had nothing to do with #MySSThug. 

On day three he was throwing up in the bathtub and crying on the cold linoleum floor, when he saw the calendar on the wall next to the sink. Two days. He had missed two full days worth of his meds, going on three. He laid on the floor knowing how easily he could close his eyes and ignore the calendar, the pain, the sadness, the loneliness, the tag… and just let the darkness spiral over him, taking him down to a place where he wouldn’t feel any of this. Spiraling was always the easiest thing to do.

He fell asleep on the floor, waking up several hours later, sore and hung over. Then he got up, washed his face, took his pills and called his therapist. He took another day off of work and called Sheila, who came to his house to sit with him, no questions asked. They watched Sponge Bob cartoons and ate pizza rolls, while she knit a new blue blanket for his couch. He hadn’t told her about the Instagram photo at that time. On day four he went back to work.

“Remember when you came by the house a few days ago?” She nodded, giving his question just the right amount of attention he needed and not much more, as she took a bite of her pie. “I saw a picture of him on Instagram… with someone else.”

“Oh.” It’s all she knew to say.

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m good now. Just, didn’t expect to see that, you know?”

She stopped chewing and looked him straight in the eye. “Ian.”

That’s it. Nothing more. He wasn't sure what she was about to say but he avoided looking at her anyway. “Yep. That’s me.” He laughed.

“Ian.” She said more softly. “Maybe you should call him.”

He shook his head. She was wrong. He knew she was wrong because things had been easier. Everything was easier now than it had been two months ago. Things weren’t perfect, but the constant pain in his heart was gone. Well, ‘gone’ was the wrong word. But he had at least gotten used to the pain. He had learned to live with the pain, and appreciate it. He had learned to understand that somehow he deserved this pain, as a sort of penance for everything he had put Mickey through over the years. It was a pain he was willing to carry, because somehow it meant Mickey was still a part of him. Letting go of it also meant letting go of Mickey. Ian wasn't ready to let him go yet, so he had to be willing to carry the pain.

“He’s happy. You know? I could see it… in that picture. He was with someone new, and he was smiling like… like he used to smile with me.” He took a drink of his coffee to avoid looking up at her.

“You know… sometimes when people love each other very much, they need time apart, so that when they come back together their love is even stronger.”

This time he looked her in her eyes, holding them to find some piece of truth in those words. “He’s happy though. He deserves to be happy, right? I can’t give him that. All I can give him is… I can’t give him that." Ian only wanted him to be happy.

She doesn’t press further. By the time the train got him back to his apartment that night, he had blocked Kyle on Instagram. After all, Ian realized, his heart can only carry so much pain before it bursts. 

***

Seven ignored texts over five days. That’s what it took before Ian finally gave in to the eighth text and agreed to go to Mandy’s place for her Labor Day party. Technically, it’s not Mandy’s place any more, but Ian doesn’t know that because he never answered any of her calls or texts anymore. He just hits delete. She moved out months ago, and has been living in New York permanently. Now it’s just Mickey and Kyle at the apartment, with Mandy occasionally using it as her crash pad whenever she comes back to Chicago. 

Greg's regular crowd was there when Ian arrives, and he recognizes less than five people. These are Mandy’s new people now. They came with Greg. Ian put on his best smile and shook hands with everyone who says hello. He brought a date. Mandy had insisted, telling him to “bring whoever you want!” Desperate not to show up alone, Ian grabbed hold of the first fuck buddy he’s had in ten years. It’s not a relationship. It’s nowhere near a relationship, considering he’s only hooked up with the guy twice, but at least he doesn’t have to show up without someone on his arm while he watches Mickey and Kyle hang on each other all night.

“OH MY GOD, IAN!” Mandy literally jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around him, nearly squeezing the air out of him. He should have been caught up in the moment, but at the exact moment she screamed his name, he saw Mickey’s head turn to look at him from the corner of his eye. Ian did his best to keep his mind and attention on Mandy, but Mickey was still watching them.

“I can’t believe you came! Mickey! Ian’s here!”

“Mandy, no! Please, no…”

It was too late. Mickey was already coming over. He had a grin on his face that seems to be threatening to turn into a full blown smile as his eyes stayed glued on Ian. He stopped a few feet short of him, keeping distance between them. There was no hand shake, no hug. 

“Hey man. You look good.” Now he was smiling. The same smile Ian had grown to love for most of his life. The smile that once upon a time only belonged to their private moments, but now… now it was just who Mickey was apparently. 

“Hi Mick.” Ian’s heart swells. The pain that lived there multiplied, but there was love too. So damn much love for this man. He actually had to tell himself not to spill every thought and feeling that wanted to escape his mouth right then. He willed his body not to close the distance between him and Mickey, the way Mandy had run to him, and wrap him in his arms. Ian averted his eyes for just a moment, unable to continue looking at Mickey without wanting to break into tears over everything he’d lost. He nodded his head, swallowed hard and pulled himself together quickly, hoping that his moment of weakness went unnoticed, then looked up to meet Mickey’s blue eyes once more. “You look… happy.” 

Mickey’s eyes dart to the man standing behind Ian, “Who’s this?” he asked with a nod of his head. The smile on his face quickly gave way to a lethal look in his eyes, which wasn’t lost on anyone.

“Oh, uh… Edgar. Ed, actually.” Ian stepped aside, not sure if he should give Mickey a direct path to Ed with that hateful look still brewing in his eyes. Ed offered his hand to Mickey. 

“Ed! Hey, it’s good to meet you!” Mandy interjects, taking hold of his extended arm. “Why don’t you and I go … I don’t know… find a drink or something, huh?” She ushered him toward the kitchen and away from Mickey who was now nodding his head slowly and biting at his lip as he watched them leave.

“You brought a date?” Mickey asked, his eyes still following Ed to the kitchen.

“Well. Mandy told me to. He’s not… I mean, we’re not...”

“You know what, forget I said anything.” Mickey interrupted. “ I don’t give a fuck.” 

He nudged at his nose with his tattooed knuckle. Ian watched the familiar motion. When he was a teenage he had lived for the moments when Mickey got jealous and dangerous, nudging at his nose that way. Over time, Ian had grown accustomed to seeing Mickey do it more and more, usually when he was pissed with Ian himself. Eventually, that same small habitual nudge became exhausting each time Ian saw it, knowing it was a result of Mickey being tired of tolerating the bullshit that came with Ian's illness. Ian’s heart ached as he realized he never really hated that gesture at all. He just hated himself for everything it had come to mean. 

“Ok.” Ian replied.

“Ok.” Mickey looked around the room, and Ian’s eyes followed, until they fell on a few of the men from the Instagram photo. Ian recognized two of them, as well as Kyle.

“Listen, it’s good to see you, Ian. I’ll let you get back to your guy, _Edgar_. Just wanted to say hi, see how you were doing, a'ight?”

Ian grasped for straws, anything to keep Mickey from walking away, “Uhm, hey, Mick?” Mickey turned back to him expectantly, his brows raised in anticipation of whatever it was Ian was about to say.

“Happy birthday. I mean, I know I’m a little late, but, you know… Happy... belated birthday.” It was pathetic, but he didn't know what else to say to keep Mickey from leaving.

Mickey nodded, a small smile reappearing on his face. “Yeah, thanks, man. You know what, that reminds me. I have something for you. A present.” He nodded his head toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms and started walking, looking back to make sure Ian was following.

“Shouldn’t I be the one giving you a present? I mean, well… I don’t actually have one, sorry, but … “

“Just shut the fuck up, Princess. Follow me.”

They passed the guest bath, then the door that used to be Mickey’s room, and continued down the hall to the room that once belonged to Mandy and Greg. 

"Isn't this Mandy's room?"

“Mandy moved out. Answer your fucking phone now and then. Just me and Kyle right now." Mickey took out a key and unlocked the door. "Fucking North Siders – they might be rich, but they’re fucking nosy as hell, you know? Gotta keep my shit locked down.” 

The room was still decorated exactly as it had been when Mandy had it. There were hints of Mickey here and there, but for the most part, the room was spic and span with very little of his personal items on display as they had been in the other room. The photo of his mother was on the nightstand, now in a double frame. Ian went to take a closer look to see the second photo, but Mickey beat him to it and turned it face down on the table. They both looked at each other but didn’t say a word. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Ian said at last.

Mickey nodded and pointed toward the walk-in closet. “It’s over here. C’mon.” The walk-in closet was larger than Ian’s living room, with a cushioned seat in the middle of the room. Mickey pointed for him to take a seat.

“Well, I gotta admit, Mandy did pretty fucking great for herself.” Ian said, looking around at the luxury that was now the Milkovich’s life. They both deserved it. The closet was full of clothes Ian didn't recognize, making him want to leave immediately.

“Yeah, who woulda thought that bitch would end up living the fuckin’ penthouse life, right? She’s in New York full time now. Shit, who the fuck woulda guessed I’d be living here, on the North Side. That shit still blows my mind.”

“It’s so… clean.”

“Maid service. Greg pays for it. Doesn’t want us destroying the place I guess, so whatever. All I gotta do is fucking rinse a dish now and then. Maid does all the rest. Plus, Kyle…” he strains to reach a box at the top of the closet, “… he’s a fucking neat freak, so the place stays pretty clean in between her visits.”

Ian gets up to help with the box that Mickey can’t seem to reach, handing it to him with a wink.

“Thanks, Gigantor. I forgot how great it was to have you around for all those hard to reach places.” The words sting without intention. Both Mickey and Ian felt it, leaving them staring at each other awkwardly for a second.

Mickey finally makes his move to the cushioned bench again. “Come on.” He sets the box down. It’s wrapped in a simple matte black paper with a thin gold ribbon around it. “I, uh… well, I wasn’t gonna actually give this to you, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized I really wanted to, you know… so…”

He handed to gift to Ian and nervously bit at his lip. 

“I don’t understand. What’s it for?”

“It’s a fucking Christmas present. Open it.” he raised his brows and nodded at the gift as if that should be enough of an explanation.

“It’s September.”

“I know what fucking month it is, Ian. Fuck. I got it for you last year. Before… you know, shit... before all of this. We didn’t exactly spend Christmas on the best of terms or do gifts, so it’s been sitting in my closet for the past 10 months. Just… open it, for fucks sake.”

Ian ran his finger along the ribbon. “Or fucking don’t, I don’t care. Do whatever the fuck you want with it.” Mickey stood to leave.

“Mick, wait! Just. Fuck. Wait a minute, please.” Mickey stopped. “Please. Can we just … slow the fuck down for five minutes? Can you just sit with me for a minute?”

Mickey sat next to Ian again, a bit closer than he had been before. Ian set the gift on the floor next to his feet, staring at the black paper. He chuckled. Mickey had discovered black wrapping paper years ago, and every gift Ian had ever received from that point on had been wrapped in it. “Nice Christmas wrapping.” 

“Fuck you. You love it.”

Ian nodded. He did. They were quiet, taking in the silence with the noise of the crowded party in the distance. 

“Mickey, I’m sorry.”

“Ian…”

“No, goddamn it! For once in your life, can you just please let me fucking say I’m sorry to you without telling me it’s not my fault?” He blurted out. “Just let me fucking talk, Mickey. I need to say this.”

“All right. Talk.”

“I’m not apologizing for… for the guy. I can’t. I want to, but nothing I say about that will take away what I did, and when someone says they're sorry for something it should mean “I won’t do that again.” We both know that I have no fucking idea if that will ever happen again, so …”

Mickey looked out the door, into the bedroom, wishing this conversation could end, but he knew it was barely getting started. “Ok, then what the fuck are you sorry for, Ian? Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate … you. Wait, that’s not right. I did. I DO appreciate you, Mickey. I do and I need you to know that. But, I’ve spent most of our adult life being a fucking burden in your life, and …”

“You’ve never been a fucking _burden_ , Ian.” Mickey said, the anger building up in his voice.

“Don’t interrupt me, please...”

“NO! You fucking listen to me! You have never been a burden in my life. And if you say that again, I swear to god, I’ll leave this fucking room and never speak to you again. You hear me?”

Ian bit his jaw down tight, holding back tears. “Ok, Mick. Ok." He nodded his head and wiped at his eyes, then cleared his throat and tried again. "See, I guess that’s sort of what I’m trying to get to, but maybe I started this wrong. So…”

He mustered up all the courage he could find and looked Mickey in the eye again, “I get it, finally. I get that you weren’t doing it out of obligation. See, when we were younger, we had so much bullshit to deal with, that all of this - all of me, and my meds and mania and depression - well, that was just par for the course, you know? But over the years, we finally escaped all that bullshit with our families and the world… but not my meds. Not my illness.”

Ian took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. He hadn’t planned on having this discussion, but now that it was happening he wanted to be sure to say the right thing, because this was his goodbye. This was letting go.

“Over the years, when I was high or low, you were there for me every time. When I was in balance, you were there to keep watch over me. You were always on watch, Mickey, and I never understood what a bur…” he stopped himself before _burden_ leaves his mouth… “I never understood the strain it put on you. On us. Until this last time. I mean, I know I was manic, but that was my doing, you know? I convinced myself that I was ok, without the meds, and I lied to you when I stopped taking them. I was ok for a while. A long time actually, but then I wasn’t. And it wasn’t until that night… when you found me… when you took me to the hospital. It wasn’t until then that I realized I had allowed my life to get to a point where I _needed_ someone to take care of me. I didn’t want to need that, Mickey. I didn’t want you to be the person who had to do that.”

Ian pressed his palms into his eyelids and took in a deep breath, letting out a sob. He felt Mickey’s hand reach for his leg, resting there. It was several minutes before he could speak again, but Mickey never moved his hand away. When Ian finally uncovered his face, he could see the smudged tears on Mickey’s own face.

“I’m sorry I stole your life from you, Mickey. I realize that now.” He held his hand up to stop Mickey from interrupting, as he cried through his words. “I realize that _our_ happiness wasn’t really _your_ happiness, you know. I see that now. I see how much more you have, and you deserve all of it, Mickey.” He opened his arm wide as if to show the room to Mickey as an example of everything he deserved. “This life … this beautiful, fucking happy life, Mick. And I’m sorry I kept you from that for so long.”

The last words were hardly distinguishable through his sobs. Ian got to his feet, grabbing his gift as he stood and ran for the door.

“Ian! Fuck! Ian, don’t leave!”

Ian stopped just short of the exiting Mickey’s room all together. His breathing was harsh in between sobs. He didn’t want to be there anymore, but he also didn’t want to run through a crowded room for the door again, in such a desperate state. 

“Ian, just… give me a fucking minute ok? You said what you wanted to say, just let me… fuck!” Mickey was standing between him and the door now, his arms coming up as if he wanted to wrap them around Ian, then falling back to his sides, then running anxiously through his black hair as he looked around the room, desperate for the right thing to say.

Ian wiped at his tears and took in deep breaths to compose himself.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ian. What is it you want, because I fucking gave you everything I could give, and you didn’t want it. You told me you didn’t fucking need me anymore. So what is it I’m supposed to say here?”

Anything. Ian could have literally said he wanted ANYTHING, and Mickey would have moved heaven and hell to make it happen. Mickey just needed Ian to say it, this one time.

“I… “ Ian let out a long sigh. “I didn’t _want_ anything, Mick. I just needed to tell you that I was sorry. I’m … fuck, I’m just trying to let go, you know.” The tears fell again and he didn’t even try to wipe them away this time. “I loved you. I fucking love you, Mickey. And I’m sorry I didn’t give you the life you deserved. You deserved to be happy.”

There wasn’t even a second left for Mickey to respond. Ian was gone, closing the door behind him and leaving Mickey behind. The words rang in Mickey’s head over and over again, “I _loved_ you. I fucking _love_ you.” The nuance had not been lost on him.

As was becoming his tradition, Ian rushed through the crowded living room and headed straight for the front door. He caught Mandy’s eye at the other end of the room, but could see by the sympathetic look she was giving him that she had no intention of stopping him. He must have looked a mess. Ed was long forgotten somewhere among the crowd, but Ian caught one last glimpse of Kyle before he left. He was surrounded by a group of men and women, all laughing at something he had said, the center of attention. It figured that Mickey would fall for a guy who liked all eyes on him. Ian took one last look around. He was grateful for the life Mickey had found.

***

THE BEGINNING

Ian pulled beers and poured shots behind the bar, dressed in his ridiculous Dalmatian costume he had bought the year before for this same party, only this year he was short of his Fireman. His red hair was greased into black and white spikes, and he was donning ridiculously long dog ears and a black nose to round out the ensemble. It was Kev and Vee’s annual Halloween party, and Kev had offered him $100 plus tips to help at the bar. It sounded like easy holiday money to Ian, but before he accepted, he had just one question:

“Is Mickey gonna be there?” 

Like everyone else, Kev avoided the subject of Mickey around Ian as cautiously as a ship in the night avoiding an iceberg. 

“No, why the fuck would he be there? Fuck, I don’t even think there’s a Milkovich left on the South Side anymore. Who woulda thought they’d be the ones to get out, right?” 

On one hand Ian was grateful the people around him didn’t constantly bring Mickey up in conversation. On the other, it was the loneliest part of the break up – no one seemed to ever remember Mickey had existed, as if bringing him up would break Ian and send him into some depressed state. Who knew if they were right or not.

And so, it had come to pass that Ian was tending bar on Halloween night, dressed as a 6 foot Dalmatian, serving up beers and shots to every neighborhood drunk on the South Side, while a rainstorm raged outside.

“Holy shit! Look what the storm blew in!?” Tommy, a regular at the Alibi, said as the bar door blew open with a gust of wind and rain following a rowdy group of people coming in.

Ian looked up at the open doors just as Mickey came walking in, dressed in jeans with black leather chaps and a leather biker's jacket to match. His hair was greased back in a 1950’s style hairdo, and dripping from the rain. He was carrying a medium sized box in his arms, which he set down gently on a table near the door as he came in. The beer Ian had been drawing overflowed in the glass and began running down his arm and onto the floor.

“Oh, fuck! Sorry! Sorry!” He said to Vee who was running to grab bar rags from the sink.

“It’s ok, baby. I got it.” She looked up at Mickey and the group he had walked in with, all of them dressed in fancy costumes, then back at Ian who now had a panic in his eyes as he watched Mickey. “Ian. Honey. You ok? You wanna take a break?”

He nodded his head and rushed to the back storage room, where he stood just out of sight, watching Mickey make his way around the bar. He heard the surprised greetings from the regulars who hadn’t seen Mickey in over a year, many of them making jabs at him for coming down from his throne to party with the South Side scum again. Mickey took it all in stride, giving everyone his false attention and ‘fuck you’s’ as his eyes wandered the room. Ian stepped back into the shadows as Mickey’s gaze turned in his direction. 

He couldn’t be here. He didn’t want to stand behind the bar all night while Mickey and Kyle and all of their new friends got drunk and laughed it up in front of him. Ian’s heart was beginning to pound as beads of sweat formed on his brow…

“Hey, Ian. You ok, man?” Kev was standing next to him, his eyes going between Ian and Mickey. “I take it you weren’t expecting Mickey to be here, huh?”

“What the fuck do you think?” Ian blurted out. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, Kev. I just… No, I wasn’t expecting him.”

“Hey listen, man. I got plenty of help tonight. If you need to leave, I think we can handle it.”

Ian looked at the door. In order to get to it, he’d have to walk out into that bar, dressed in last year’s Dalmatian costume, right out where Mickey would see him. He’d rather curl up in a small hole and die before that happened.

Kev pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “Come on, man. I got you.” He led Ian to the back of the storage room, moving some boxes off a set of wood shelves against the wall, then shoving the shelves out of the way to reveal a large steel door. Kev unlocked the three locks on the door and pulled it open. “Go. I’ll get with you tomorrow and give you your money.”

“No, it’s ok. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Ian. It’s ok. A deal’s a deal. You showed up. I’ll pay you half, how’s that?” Ian nodded then ran out into the rainy night, heading down the alley and away from Mickey as fast as his legs would carry him.

He’d made it home, leaving his wet costume on the floor near the front door, then headed for a hot shower to get the chills out of his bones. Once dressed in warm sweats and a hoody, he sat down to browse through Netflix, when there came a tap at his door. He tossed the remote on the table and headed for the door. It was too late in the evening for trick or treaters, even in this neighborhood where kids didn’t seem to understand what a curfew was. He looked through the peek hole, but only saw a black hole with a finger pressed against the lens. 

“Ha ha, asshole - real funny. How many times are you gonna cover the peep hole?” He chuckled, rolling his eyes as he unlocked the door for Lip, without actually opening it. He headed back to the couch as the door opened then closed behind him.

“What’re you doing here anyway? Did you strike out with the Slutty Pumpkin chick at the Alibi?” He asked as he pulled Sheila's blue knit blanket from the back of the couch.

“She wasn’t really my type. I’m more into red-heads, you know. Batshit crazy, alien looking motherfuckers, with freckles and shit.” 

Ian spun in his seat and sat up straight, shocked to see Mickey standing before him, dripping wet. The box he had come into the bar with earlier was tucked beneath his arm.

“Mickey! I … shit, I thought you were Lip. What are you doing here?”

“Thought I might run into you down at the Alibi tonight, but, uh… Vee said you never showed up. Which I thought was a little strange, since I’d seen some stupid fucking six foot Dalmatian walk into the place two hours before I did, looked a lot like you.” Mickey's eyes fell on the discarded Dalmatian costume sitting on the floor.

“You did? I mean… What were you … why… You were there?”

“Yeah, we were waiting for some asshole to make a drop for me.” He nodded toward the box he was holding. “He was late, so we sat out there for a while. How the fuck did you miss my car? I was parked right in front of the fucking bar, for christ’s sake.”

“I uh, guess I just didn’t expect to see you there.” Ian eyed the box. “What’s in the box? Please tell me that thing isn’t full of fucking drugs, Mick. You get caught with a load like that and they’ll put you away for…”

“S’not drugs. Move over.” Mickey set the box on the floor next to the couch, then ran his hands through his wet hair and wiped away the drops of rain still on his face.

Ian moved over on the couch, giving Mickey room to sit. Mickey stayed standing, taking a look around the room. It was simply decorated, unlike their home together had been before, with year’s worth of possessions lining the table tops and walls. There were only three things on the mantel, which covered a fake white-walled fireplace – The first was a picture of Ian holding Yevgeny when he was just a few months old, both of them asleep on the couch; in the middle was a scented candle which had been burned halfway down, leaving the room with the smell of fresh linen that Mickey had always favored; the last item was the silver frame Mickey had given Ian two months earlier. It held a picture of Mickey, Yevgeny, Mumbles, and Ian. They were huddled together on the couch, with the words “My Thugs” engraved on the frame. Mickey lifted it from the mantel and ran his finger along the edge of the frame before placing it back. 

“I got this same picture in my room. I put it in that frame, with the picture of my mom you gave me. Remember that?” Ian nodded, remembering how Mickey had placed the frame face down the last time they were in his room. “The place looks nice. You get rid of all our shit?” 

“Well, no. Not really. A lot of it’s in the bedroom. Some of it’s in boxes. I guess… I just needed some more time, you know. Were you looking for something? I have it all if you want to go through it?”

“Nah. No, it’s cool, man. That’s not really why I came here.”

Mickey was still standing, leaving Ian sitting alone. Ian pat the empty seat on the couch, “You wanna sit a minute?”

“Uh… well…”

“ _meow_.”

“What was that?” Ian looked at Mickey, then they both looked at the box that was sitting next to the couch. “Did I just… did you … do you have a cat in there?”

Mickey scratched at his head, biting at his lip, then nodding his head. “Maybe.”

“What the hell are you doing with a cat… In a box?” 

Mickey lifted the box onto the empty seat on the couch.

“I didn’t want to do this too soon. I thought maybe you… well, we both needed some time to, you know, be sad about losing Mumbles and all. But I also know that the reason I got you Mumbles in the first place was to, … well, help you, with your lows.”

He opened the lid of the box, revealing a thick, warm fleece blanket and the old gray hoodie Ian used to steal from him. Tucked down in the center of it all, Ian could see two bright blue eyes peering out at him from the shadows.

“You brought me a cat, Mick?” 

Mickey nodded. “Yeah. Guess so.” He reached into the box and pulled out a tiny black kitten, his blue eyes wide and frightened, and his skinny legs sprawled out in four directions as he cried. Mickey cupped his second hand below the kitty and brought it to his lips to kiss his head, then handed him to Ian.

“He’s eight weeks old today. I picked him out a few weeks ago, but I haven’t named him yet. Figured you’d wanna do that, and all, since I named our last cat.” Ian took the kitten from him gently and cuddled it to his chest. “Listen, I got a bunch of shit in my car. Cat toys, litter, food... all the shit you’re gonna need, so I’m just… I’ll go get it.”

“Mick…” Mickey glanced back. Ian set the kitten back in the box, making Mickey worry that he had overstepped his boundaries with the kitten. Maybe Ian wasn’t ready. Maybe he just didn’t want a kitten from Mickey.

“Listen, man. I probably should have asked you first. I mean, you don’t have to keep it. I can take him with me.”

Ian stood, taking quick steps toward Mickey before Mickey could gather the kitten and the box to leave.

“Mickey, no.” They were inches from one another. Mickey’s heart was pounding in his ears, heat rising in his skin as the uncertainty of being there washed over him. Ian’s hands ached to reach out for him – to touch him. “Mick…” he said again, unable to find the words he needed now but desperately wanting to say something more. Seconds ticked by as they looked at one another, not speaking.

Mickey moved first, his hand wrapping around Ian’s neck and pulling him into a kiss. It was simple and soft, but filled with every ounce of desperation and desire he had been holding onto for a year. He brought his other hand up, holding on to Ian as if his life depended on it, feeling the loneliness and aching of the past twelve months bleeding from his heart. It was more than he had hoped for, to touch Ian once more. This was love. This was forgiveness. This was letting go of pain.

Ian’s arms slipped around Mickey, pulling him closer, licking at his lips to deepen the kiss as they clung to each other. Even once the kiss had ended, they stood nose to nose, eyes closed, not wanting to let go.

“I love you, Ian.” His words were barely audible. “Fuck, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not fucking happy without you, asshole. Can’t you see that?”

Ian lifted his head, opening his eyes to meet Mickey's glossy blue. “But… what about Kyle?”

“What the fuck does Kyle have to do with anything?”

“I thought… I mean, you’re with him. Aren’t you? You’re happy… You looked so happy, Mickey. I saw you… with him. On Instagram.” He confessed as he stepped back.

“Fucking asshole tags everyone in everything. Of course I’m not with him. He’s straight. He has a fucking girlfriend.”

Ian took another step, unsure what to believe. “But, you live with him. I saw you together, tonight. You were with him at the bar tonight.”

“I live with him _and_ his girlfriend, who was also at the bar. She moved in three weeks ago. Kyle is Greg’s brother. Those were his fucking friends at the Alibi tonight. His buddy's the one with the kittens. We were waiting for him to get there so I could bring it to you.”

“You mean, you’re not with Kyle?" Ian asked cautiously. "So... are you with anyone?” 

Mickey eyed the tiny kitten trying to crawl its way out of the box.

“I... uhm... I guess I’m with him.” Mickey answered, nodding at the kitten. “If you’ll have us.”

” />

**Author's Note:**

> I know that was a rough ride, but hopefully worth it in the end. Let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> What did you like?  
> What would you change?  
> What did you think was missing?
> 
> Find additional works here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7


End file.
